Breaking the Habit
by aniron17
Summary: AoshiSoujirou. A weird sort of fic about gangs and heroes.


**Breaking The Habit-** purpled

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Again he was leaving home with no good-byes, not even a hastily-scribbled note to explain his sudden departure and his future itinerary.  
  
Maybe if he knew why he was leaving, he would do so.  
  
Unlike the last time though, no four faithful comrades surrounded him. There would be no loyal girl waiting for his return.  
  
Shinomori Aoshi adjusted his pack and pushed open the shoji. Without a backward glance, he was off, not on an adventure, but on a trip that would hopefully lead him to place where he belonged.  
  
He no longer felt at home at the Aoiya. It seemed that time had gone at a snails' pace for him, and at a mile a minute for the whole world. Misao-chan was now a woman enamored not with his present state, but with her image of him imprinted by a child's loving eyes. No, her emotion was not love. And rotting in a temple was no way to seek the salvation he so craved.  
  
So now he was leaving without good-byes, cutting all ties with an old home, from old friends...  
  
From an old life.  
  
On the road, alone. The ninja uniform sagged slightly on his thinner frame, but his trenchcoat still fit fine, and the feel of his kodachi, heavy in his palm, was the same.  
  
Yes, it was time to move on.  
  
As he rounded the street corner, he became aware of shouts coming from a dead-end alley, a few blocks from where he stood. Never one to join gang wars, he certainly wasn't going to join now. He turned in the other direction, brows knotting in annoyance as the shouts escalated in volume and violence. Suddenly, a familiar voice broke from the pandemonium, startling him and causing his feet to turn. It sliced through the air with one word.  
  
"Tasukete!"  
  
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His wandering feet had taken him to Kyoto, and he thought he could find his answer here.  
  
Well, obviously, he was wrong.  
  
Seta Soujirou's mouth was filled with blood and his torn clothes were stained in the stuff. He spit it out, glaring menacingly at the gang leader, who pulled his head up by his hair. Soujirou wrinkled his nose in obvious distaste as the man spoke again, fikking the tiny space between them with his stench.  
  
"You say you have no money, but perhaps your beauty will fetch a good sum." Soujirou's eyes widened. No... NO! His stomach clenched in fear. He knew what the man meant to do. In answer, he opened his mouth...  
  
And spit into the man's face. The man roared as the mixture of blood and saliva landed close to his eye, and he tightened his hold on Soujirou's hair. With no warning whatsoever, he banged the boy's head against the wall. Soujirou fell in a heap at his feet.  
  
Pain shot through his being and he winced. He heard the other gang members assembling themselves and their random weapons. He bit his lip, swallowed his pride, and screamed.  
  
"Tasukete!"  
  
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Aoshi could not believe his eyes. He could not see the one who had screamed, but he had heard it before, a sweetly lilting voice.  
  
Inviting him to join the most explosive anti-Reconstruction conspiracy he had ever known. A voice telling him of a philosophy treasured from childhood. A voice introducing one of the strongest and most enticingly delicate warriors he had ever met.  
  
Seta Soujirou's voice.  
  
But never had he heard such anguish, such complete and utter pain in the boy's tone. And so he had rushed, filled with irrational fear, to the source of the scream. His ice blue eyes scanned the scene, horror mounting inside him. Ten or fifteen men surrounded the small blue-clad figure prone on the ground, pummeling the young man with everything from clubs, to fists, to plain unadorned pieces of wood. Aoshi's eyes narrowed as he drew his kodachi.  
  
These men would pay.

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The pain was lessening, but the din around him increased considerably. Anguished screams and yells of pain surrounded Soujirou horribly, filling his head. He curled up into a little ball as his captors fell on either side of him, unconscious and half-dead. He heard footsteps approach him, slowly crunching on gravel. He closed his eyes and a whispering sob of fear escaped his throat. He felt himself being picked up, gently. Felt the strong chest that cushioned him and the heartbeat thudding beneath. He smelled the familiar scent of musk and sweet sweat that he knew from his life before, minus the aroma of bloodshed and stained metal.  
  
He opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the pain from his swollen lid. Baby blue irises sought to focus, blinked rapidly. At the sight of his rescuer's face, he broke into the radiant smile. He snuggled closer to his hero, hands reaching up to link behind the man's neck. Slowly, he spoke.  
  
"Thank you for coming, Aoshi." 

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Breaking the Habit concluded


End file.
